


First Flight : Kite-Man blurb

by EnigmatiCiphers



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: A crash, Mentions of Death, TW:, very brief suicide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27222730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnigmatiCiphers/pseuds/EnigmatiCiphers
Summary: A Kite-Man piece! Chuck is such a comfort character for me. After the War of Jokes and Riddles, it's hard not to love him. Hope you all enjoy! As always, mind the tags for anything that might be a trigger for you.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	First Flight : Kite-Man blurb

_Eilmer. Reichelt. Lilienthal._   
  
Those who dared as the imprisoned Daedalus. There were many more to the list; so many names under the span of history who dared to jump and try to defy that which was most human.   
  
Chuck Brown stood atop his workplace to tally his own name to the list. He embraced the high winds, testing the unguarded edge of the rooftop. He had not looked down yet. He stood there, prodding the hands of fate to push him; to punish his hubris and remove foot from concrete. His balance wobbled. The man drew in a shuttered breath, the cold air invading his lungs. Heavy clouds hung overhead. He could taste the dew. It would soon rain; after all, this was Gotham City.   
  
It was an ugly city. A dirty city. It swelled like an overripe fruit, foul and over populated. The skin withered, the sweetened fruit oozing at the seams; Gotham was fit to burst. Despite all this, there was no sight like it. Gotham had a peculiar beauty to it. Never sleeping. Never silent. From afar, it twinkled in the dark. Reds, greens, and blues bled into the dock as lights leaked from proud skyscrapers. Winter was best, when the gargoyles were dusted with snow and the orange park trees jumped out into sight.   
  
_Eilmer_. The monk of Malmesbury who sought to fly among God’s creation. Flung atop the Abbey tower, he broke both of his legs. Over 200 meters; 656 feet. His work was 11th century, wings without tail. By grace of God or creation that he did survive, Chuck did not know. Today, there was no chance of blessing. All faith fell onto his kite. Chuck’s foot shifted and a small stone fell from the rooftop’s edge. The man stepped back, making distance between himself and the ledge. He imagined for himself a rooftop runway which would help to begin his lift-off.   
  
Ever since mankind has existed, they have sought to become more than they were. Each decade, each invention--they redefined what it means to be human. Chuck wondered then if this was how the Wright Brothers felt at Kitty Hawk or how the Robert Brothers felt after they built the first manned Hydrogen Balloon; a deep sense of dread. His life was about to be changed one way or another. There was no turning back.   
  
Chuck ran off the edge, gripping onto the metal bar. It was like a rollercoaster. He closed his eyes and held on tight. He was plummeting. He swallowed. Another name surfaced in his memory: _Reichelt_. The flying tailor who plummeted from the Eiffel Tower. 52 meters; 170 feet. A parachute failed to deploy. Dead.   
  
He opened his eyes, a tear blown from his cheeks as he fell. The street grew closer. Just a few moments more: he would become a statistic. Another Gotham suicide. Until--the wind picked up underneath the kite’s wings. Excitement jolted through his body. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, leaving his fingertips and toes to tingle. Cradled atop the breeze, he took the chance to activate the jets. The air brushed through his hair as he flew overtop a junction of cars. He let out a breathy laugh before belting out the loudest holler he could muster. It worked. It finally worked. He was flying. A warmth spread across his cheeks as looked down overtop of Gotham. Wide and beaming, his grin stung in the most wonderful of ways. It was here that he felt refreshed. It was here that he was no longer Charles Brown; Wayne Aerospace engineer; the divorcee; the failed father. Any idiot can fly a kite, but it takes a special kind of idiot to fly _with_ one. A mouth full wind and drool, all what victory tasted like.   
  
No drug compared to that of the sky. But every high has a low. The jet sputtered. One gave out as the other kept strong. Chuck wobbled, he and his kite spiraling downwards. Then came the last of three men: _Lilienthal_. The flying man who’d conquer the world; but like every flying man, they were good to the last drop.   
  
Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. He heard the cars beep, those below voicing surprise. A siren called in the far distance. Chuck closed his eyes in hopes of controlling his sick. The sounds washed together into a whirl until--CRASH.   
  
Pain. It surged into his head and his arm burned into a throb. He opened his eyes to glass. Blurry glimmers which scattered the brown carpet. He tried to prop himself up upon an unwilling arm. A face came into view, it was a woman.   
  
“Oh my god, are you okay?”   
  
Chuck laughed. He could taste blood coating his tongue as it pooled behind his lower lip. Looking up at her in his crumpled state, he managed a yellowed grin. Dryly, he groaned, “Hell yeah.”


End file.
